Idiosyncrasy Among Brothers
by Isolophiliac
Summary: A series of one-shots and a character study or two detailing the habits, the thoughts and the moments shared between a circus freak, a black sheep, a book nerd and everyone's favorite demon-brat. Includes Reverse Robins!
1. Lost Cause

Damian Wayne growled in frustration as he threw his katana at the nearest wall, embedding it into the beige painted plaster and mahogany panelling ten feet away. " _Justice not vengeance."_ Those three words kept echoing in his mind, over and over again to point where he felt he had driven himself to insanity.

He knew what the words meant, he understood them, but still, nothing had changed. At times he still wanted to kill, sometimes he still wanted hurt people. He hadn't changed, he was still a killer, a murderer, _an assassin_. Damian growled, throwing everything off his desk before planting his barefoot into the wall.

He was angry and he didn't know who or what at. He hated those three words, he hated his father and all their fights, he hated his mother and the League of Shadows. Damian scowled at nothing in particular, still feeling rotten.

"Hey, Littl-" A tall, lithe young man with short, raven hair and cobalt eyes waltzed into Damian's room, stopping short when he noticed the mess and mass destruction. "What happened in here?" He asked, scanning the room. "Did you get into another fight with Bruce? Or Tim?"

"Pfft. As if Drake could insult me." Damian scoffed, the true emotions in his voice masked with a counterfeit form of contempt. The young man, Richard 'Dick' Grayson raised a questioning eyebrow. "But something did..." He pressed, slowly inching his way closer the eleven-year-old boy who was now leaning against the wall on the other side of the room, next to a floor-to-ceiling arched window.

"It's nothing, Grayson!" Damian snapped, getting annoyed. "If it was nothing there wouldn't be a hole in the wall the size of your foot, and the contents of your desk would still be in one piece." Dick pointed out, putting his calloused hand on Damian's shoulder. "Come on, you can trust me Baby Bird."

"Don't call me that." Damian rebuked, shrugging Dick's hand away. "And it is nothing! Why won't anyone believe me!" Damian growled, half to Dick and half to himself, glaring at the wall. "Who won't believe you?" Damian's green tinted, aquamarine eyes widened ever-so-slightly as he realised his mistake.

"No One! Back off Grayson!"

"Not in a million years, Baby Bat." Dick sang, throwing Damian over his shoulder, much to the boy's chagrin. "Hey! Put me down now you insolent fool!" Damian yelled in protest, punching Dick's back. Dick laughed, sounding free and careless as always. "Whatever you say, Little D." Dick sang, throwing the struggling Damian onto his neatly made bed. "So," Dick started free falling onto the bed, practically throwing himself next to Damian. "What's going on?"

"I already told you nothing is going on." Damian stubbornly insisted, sounding a just a little too much like his father. "You're being absolutely ridiculous." Dick quietly studied Damian, taking in the young boy's body language, silently deciphering the truth.

Although it might not have seemed like it Damian was easy to understand once you got past his overbearing and confident facade, he was still a kid and a creature of habit, even if he refused to believe it. Whenever Damian got into a fight with an authority figure or someone he looked up to he would train, either relentlessly hacking items and objects apart with his deadly katana or read some overcomplicated book, those fights made him feel like a disappointment.

Whenever he fought with Tim or Jason he would storm off and sulk and soon start plotting revenge the moment he got over his secretly hurt feelings. Sometimes, when Talia appeared, Damian would drop off the face of the earth, far too conflicted for his pride to handle seeing anyone. He just didn't... _couldn't_ understand that they were family, that they didn't care about what his mother said, he was still family. Dick couldn't help but feel sad about that, he was an eleven-year-old boy who couldn't understand what family was, at least not the good kind, the kind that counted.

Dick has stuck with his little brother through thick and thin, knowing that Tim, Jason and especially Bruce would not be able to sympathise with Damian, a boy who desperately needed it. But even with experience in dealing with Damian's temper tantrums, he had never seen him like this. He was angry all right, but why Dick couldn't tell, at least not yet.

"Come on, Dami." Dick urged in a soft voice. "Be honest with me Baby Bat, I can't help if you don't talk." "I don't _need_ your help..." Damian muttered, avoiding Dick's gaze. Dick stayed silent, knowing Damian just needed time to think before he spoke.

"It's just... Do..." Damian trailed off, biting down on his bottom lip. "You must know I am only saying such thing to put a stop to your incessant badgering." Damian stated, earning himself a smile and a slightly amused 'mmm-hmm' from Grayson.

"Am I a bad person?"

 _"What?!"_

Dick was absolutely shocked at the question. That's what this was about? That's why he trashed his room? Because he didn't think he was good? Because he was he was mad, not at Tim or Bruce, but at... _at himself._

"Damian, of course, you're a good person!" Dick exclaimed, his mind working desperately to find the cause of Damian's train of thought. "But I hurt people." Damian butted in. "I've killed people. Sometimes I still want to and I never feel bad about it."

"Baby Bird..." Dick started, wrapping his arm around Damian's shoulders. "You can't blame yourself for what your mother raised you to do." Damian and Dick's eyes met for a moment before Damian returned his gaze to the bed sheets. "I don't- But..." Damian trailed off, shaking his head. "I was raised to kill people... And although I know it's wrong but I don't feel bad about killing..."

"You obviously feel bad about killing, Little D. If you didn't you wouldn't be torturing yourself about it." "I am not 'torturing' myself'!" Damian exclaimed, defensive. Dick gave the boy's shoulders a comforting squeeze, silently reminded himself o have a talk with Bruce later.

"It's okay Dami, you're a good person... You're _not_ a lost cause."


	2. Denial of A Lost Son

Timothy Drake stared at the ugly red lines and the faded purplish-grey ones that littered his arms, his legs, bits and pieces of his exposed flesh, his pale blue eyes taking in each and every scar that marred his unhealthy pale skin. He had spent the past… he didn't know how long locked up in his apartment on his laptop, researching something, looking for something, the only problem was that he didn't know what that something was. He hadn't left his apartment in a long time, that he certain of, not since Dick had become Batman and Damian Robin, not since Bruce had died.

And maybe that was the problem, Tim couldn't help but think. Maybe he'd lost his mind, maybe he'd end up Jason or one of the crazies in Arkham. He just couldn't help it, he knew something was up, something was wrong, he could just feel it. They're hadn't been a body, it was like Bruce had just disappeared and people didn't just disappear.

 _Something was up, something was wrong._ Those six words just repeating over and over again in his head as he typed away, looking for anything that could prove his gut feeling, something that could get rid of the itch that just wouldn't go away. Tim knew that he was in denial, that this was just another stage of grief, but still… instincts may never have been concrete but that didn't mean that they were always wrong, he felt like this for a reason, a reason more than just someone's death. Right?

 _Something was up, something was wrong._

Tim typed faster, looking through everything he could find that raised his interests, sending what evidence of crimes (smuggling rings, a few con websites, not what he was looking for) he found to Oracle.

 _Knock._

 _Knock._

 _Knock._

Tim jolted up in surprise at the sudden noise, sparing a glance at his door before returning his gaze to his laptop, hoping that whoever it was would just go away.

"Timmy? It's me, open up!"

Shit, it was Dick, he definitely wasn't going to go anytime soon. If Tim didn't answer the older man would probably just sit outside his door whining like a depressed puppy until he let him in, or until he decided to pick the lock.

"I know you're in there, Babs told me you haven't left in days."

Tim rolled his eyes, he should've known that Barbara would check his apartment building's security footage, most likely at Dick's request.

"Come on Tim!"

Tim went back to his typing, he still could hope that Dick would leave, right? Wrong. With a quiet click his front door swung open revealing a rather annoyed looking young man with naturally tan skin and bright cerulean eyes.

Dick slammed the door shut behind him, waltzing up to where his adoptive little brother sat, still staring at his computer screen. "I knew you were in here!" He exclaimed, his brow furrowing with worry as his eyes scanned Tim and the state he was in.

Tim's clothes were loose and wrinkled, his hair was a mess that even Dick's bedhead couldn't compete with, and he kept biting down on his lower lip, a sure sign something was seriously bothering him. Dick couldn't help but hope this had nothing to do with him choosing Damian over him to be Robin, that choice was justifiable, but then again it was most likely the justifiability of that choice that had made Tim hate it so much.

Dick sat down on the small beige sofa next to Tim, causing the younger boy to tense and abruptly slam his laptop shut. "So… Why didn't you answer the door?" Dick asked, his gaze unmoving.

 _What's wrong?_ Dick thought.

 _Go Away._ Tim's mind pleaded although he'd never say it out loud.

"Oh... you know, just thought you were one of those annoying peddlers or something."

Dick raised an eyebrow. _Seriously Tim? You could do better than that._

"Really?" Dick asked, and Tim, staring determinedly at the nothingness in front of him nodded.

"Yep, been having a serious problem with them lately."

"Un-hun." Dick hummed, amused.

"Yah… _People_ just seem to _keep showing up_ where they're _not_ _wanted._ "

 _Ouch. That one hurt. When did Tim get so cold?_ Of course Tim never really was the temper tantrum type.

"What do you mean by that?" Dick asked, slowly. The key to getting Tim to reveal anything was to just keep the conversation going, he usually ended up revealing something personal without even realising it, lost over analysing some other aspect of the other person's words.

"Nothing, what did you think I meant by it?" Of course in order to do that you'd have to get him to stop asked questions and honestly answer some, which was about as easy as getting Babs to admit she was wrong about something (which never seemed to happen, much to Dick's chagrin).

"Nothing," Dick said, repeating Tim's words.

"Why are you here anyways?" Tim asked, still looking at nothing.

"Just thought that something might be up, that's all."

"I'm fine."

Dick rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because barricading yourself in your little hovel of loneliness is 'fine'."

"I'm not-" Tim started, finally looking at Dick. "Barricading myself anywhere. And this isn't a hovel it's an apartment."

"You haven't left this building in almost three weeks."

 _Oh, so that's how long it's been._

"Why are you here?" Tim asked again, just wanting the conversation to be over.

 _Why won't you go away?_

"I'm worried about you..."

 _I'm worried about me too._

"You can't just keep hiding up here..."

 _Why can't I?_

"This isn't healthy..."

 _What's wrong with it?_

"Come back to the manor, whatever's going on we can figure it out..."

 _What is going on?_

"Or at least just get out of your apartment..."

 _I don't want to._

"I know things have been tough with Bruce's death…"

 _You have no idea._

"What's wrong, Tim?"

 _What's wrong with me?_

Tim's fist's clenched, he was staring into nothing again, and this just made Dick worry more. Tim had always been the smartest out of all of them, sometimes it felt like he was even smarter than Bruce, but he was never to best at communicating. When it came down to it Damian and Jason both let out their problems, maybe not in the best of ways but they always got there with some coaxing and anger management. But with Tim it was different, he didn't get angry like Jason or emotionally confused like Damian, he'd just shoved it all down into the pit of his stomach until he did something like this to hide it all.

Tim felt like the room was getting smaller, he didn't want to talk about it, the feeling in his chest, why couldn't Dick just understand that? His thoughts were suffocating him, clouding up his brain and derailing his train of thought.

 _He wasn't Robin anymore! That's what was wrong! Bruce died a suspicious death! Crime was everywhere! Nothing Bruce did felt like it mattered! People just kept disappearing! Why was everyone leaving him! Why did they leave him alone! He needed them! Why did they just keep going away!_

Tim couldn't breathe, it was all just too much, so much information he just didn't want to process. He didn't realise Dick's arms were around him until he was leaning against the older man's chest, blood running down his hands from where his nails had pierced his skin. He'd forgotten what abandonment felt like when his parents had died, but now that feeling was back, filling him with emotions he really didn't want to understand.

"Shhh, Timmy. It's okay. You're okay." Dick soothed, trying to calm down his hyperventilating little brother. Tim moved his hands from his sides to his head, pulling at his hair and digging his nails into his scalp. The pain was a distraction, it calmed him down.

There was just too much, too much chaos, too much change it felt like the world had been pulled from underneath his feet like a carpet. So much had happened that he wanted to change but he couldn't, he couldn't help them. He didn't want to believe it, that Bruce was dead, that all this, everything was happening, it was and he couldn't change it.

But for some reason he just couldn't seem to accept that.


	3. The Little Things

To Nightwing heights were a strange thing, they always helped him clear his mind, even when it was jumping to less than pleasant thoughts and memories. When he was up high he was staring into the abyss, terrified he might have to relive the worst moments of his life, that he'd see someone loved fall onto the pavement below, but for some reason standing tall on the rooftops and grappling above the city streets was the best feeling in the world.

Maybe that's why Oracle kept calling him crazy.

* * *

Jason didn't know what the Lazarus pit did to him, but what it left behind was nerve racking to everyone but himself. To him, the Lazarus just brought out the person he always was, he was the street-rat that everyone hated, a person who should be hated.

Maybe that's why Roy and Kori kept sending him to that shrink.

* * *

It was the distinctive thing about him, how Tim could get so lost in his novels, in other people's worlds that the entire world around him just… disappeared. He could understand the oddest of things, he was a rather odd person after all and that most likely was why no one ever really bothered to understand him.

Maybe that's why Steph kept trying to get him to go out more.

* * *

Damian Wayne was the boy who grew up far too quickly for anyone's liking, his life expectancy was to do what was expected of him, what was wanted of him and nothing more. Who would care for a boy who couldn't do as they were told?

Perhaps such thoughts were the reason why he was always finding copies of children's books littering his neatly made bed every time he returned from patrol with his father and why Grayson always insisted he read them to him.


	4. Tag, Take and Keep Away (Reverse Robins)

**Reverse Robins!**

 **Ages:**

 **Richard Grayson/Robin - 13**

 **Jason Todd/The Red Hood - 17**

 **Timothy Drake/Red Robin - 19**

 **Damian Wayne/The Black Bat - 21**

 **Shoutout to** _ **The Best Guesst**_ **for the Request.**

* * *

The moonlit sky illuminated nothing but wispy grey stratus clouds as four shadowy figures made their way across the city rooftops that stood row by row in Gotham's east end.

A mischievous cackle echoed through Gotham City's streets.

"You're it!" Robin declared as he flipped over his big brother, The Red Hood's shoulders.

"It?" Red Hood jumped having not noticed the younger boy's presence earlier. "What do you mean by it?"

"That you're it!" Robin exclaimed as he balanced on the very edge of the rooftop, hand on his hips.

"Yeah, cause that explains it." Red Hood replied, his voice practically oozing sarcasm.

Robin rolled his sapphire-cobalt eyes despite the fact that they were hidden by the white lenses in his mask.

"Rooftop tag," he smirked, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "In… Three…"

Red Hood scowled under his ruby red helmet. "I don't have time for this." He muttered under his breath, but Robin (like the annoying little troll he was) ignored him.

"Two…"

"One!"

Faster than the Red Hood could process Robin jumped into the air and pulled his helmet off his head, revealing the domino mask he wore underneath before grappling off to the next rooftop.

"Okay, now the kid's just asking for it." Red Hood grumbled under his breath as he began to chase after the boy.

The chase lasted for several minutes, Robin cackling as the Red Hood took part in his little game of keep away until…

"What are you two doing?!" Red Robin exclaimed as he swooped down in front of Robin, causing the younger boy to crash into his stomach.

"Rooftop tag," Robin explained in a cheery voice as he pulled Red Robin's utility belt off from where it sat around his hips before running off again.

"Hey!" Red Robin exclaimed, joining the chase.

This chase was not stopped again, or it at least it wasn't until news spread of the odd chase. Curious as to why his father's wards were making such a racket in downtown Gotham The Black Bat decided to make an appearance.

"What on earth are you imbeciles doing?" Black Bat demanded, his arms folded over his chest as he watched the helmet-less Red Hood and the utility belt-less Red Robin chasing after the youngest of their slightly deranged family.

"Rooftop tag," Robin said, tossing Black Bat Red Hood's helmet and on of Red Robin's utility belts. "They're it."

The chase that followed was absolutely, one-hundred percent maddening.

 **Sorry, this was so short, I'm trying to write some of the fluffier requests because I find that so far this story had been mostly morbid, you know, expanding my horizons and all that stuff. The next few chapters might be short too (although they might not be) but they'll all be requests, so who knows maybe yours will be next!**

 **Don't forget to review! Meow.**


	5. Secrets and Sneaks (S&S Pt1)

**Shoutout to** _ **Blackkitty5133**_ **for all the requests! Here's one of them.**

* * *

"Dami?" Dick Grayson called quietly as he peaked around Damian's bedroom door, his sapphire eyes scanning across his little brother's animal infested bedroom. Alfred The Cat was sitting curled up on Damian's bed, staring unblinkingly at the yellow canary (how the hell did that get in here?) sitting on Damian's bookshelf. Titus was gone, Damian had taken him out on a walk Dick figured, knowing that if the younger boy had left to train he would've brought Alfred The Cat (and his new Canary friend) to the Batcave along with Titus too.

Damian and his strays were a group deal, he was rarely without at least one of them.

"The coast is clear," Dick informed, turning his head to the two boys standing stealthily behind him. Tim and Jason grinned and exchanged mischievous looks, the three boys had been plotting Damian's initiation in their little family for quite some time and now that they had gotten to get know the boy a little bit better since his unexpected arrival they were all itching for a chance to prank him, especially Jason who refused to forget (or let go of) what would forever be referred to as 'the helmet incident'.

"Perfect," Jason smirked as the three brothers slipped into Damian's bedroom, quietly closing the door behind them. Damian Wayne's bedroom was as about as complex as the boy himself, to an untrained eye the room was simple, far too clean to be any normal eleven-year-old boys bedroom, but simple all the same. A neatly made bed with a plain black comforter was pushed against one wall, away from all of the extravagant windows and with one side pressed completely against the wall, a barren desk sat parallel to the bed, all stray papers, pens and notebooks tucked away into their rightful drawers.

"Man this place is _clean_ ," Jason remarked as he strode across the square room, avoiding (most) of the booby traps, choosing to ignore the Chinese rin dagger that had implanted itself into the wall mere centimetres away from his head.

"Like father, like son," Tim muttered in agreement, fingering in the heavy grey curtains that blocked out almost all natural light.

Like father, like son was perhaps the saying that could ever fit into Damian's complicated and ever-changing part of the universe, but at the same time, it never could. Damian and his father were very alike yet at the same time so different attempting to make sense of it could make even the smartest of people's head spin.

Damian and Bruce were both sullen and sulky, they carried a silent melancholy air about themselves every possible moment, yet Damian was constantly changing, his easily hidden goals and fears alway influenced by the people around him, where Bruce was a man set in his ways Damian was a boy still trying to find his place despite the fact he'd been told his entire life where exactly that place should be.

Jason immediately began rummaging through the desk drawers, carelessly throwing surprisingly good sketches all over the desk until...

 _Thump._

"Hun," Jason remarked, tapping his knuckles against the bottom of the desk drawer, surprised when he was rewarded, once again with the familiar thumping sound. The bottom of the desk drawer was hollow… which could only mean...

"Ha!" Jason exclaimed as he pulled the false bottom out of the drawer revealing a plain, nondescript USB Drive. "Wonder what he's got hidden on this thing." He muttered to himself, pulling it out from his hiding place.

Tim shrugged, joining Jason at the sturdy wooden desk. "Who knows."

"Let's find out," Dick smirked, pulling the USB from Jason's grasp and running out of Damian's room and into the Batcave, the two other boys following closely behind. It took Dick only a few minutes to dig his Laptop out of the hidden compartment in his motorcycle and another couple minutes for Tim to decipher the encryption code (and Jason said that mathletes were an 'overly nerdy' waste of time) before they managed to gain access to the contents of the USB drive.

"It's just two videos." Tim realised, clicking on one of the two sole contents.

The video started in a plain room with nothing but darkness and wood panelling.

"Gah!"

Suddenly two figure became apparent in the shadows.

A slightly younger Damian, maybe eight or nine years old was laying on his stomach, sprawled out across the floor with blood seeping through his plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants.

"What the hell?!" Jason exclaimed, looking a little taken back by the scene unfolding on the screen in front of him.

A man was looming over Damian, tall and muscular with dark, greying hair and an olive complexion as dark as copper.

Ra's Al Ghul stared emotionlessly down at his grandson, his cold eyes filled with disapproval.

"Get up." he spat, glaring at Damian as he struggled to his feet. The boy had obviously taken a beating, his usually olive skin was sickly pale and speckled with purples, blues, yellows and greens from older bruises, blood was running down his limbs from various cuts.

The moment Damian managed to get to his feet was the moment Ra's Al Ghul began his attack, sending a relentless series of kicks and punches in Damian's direction. Damian dodged the first few punches sent his way, flipping and ducking out of harm's way.

The three boys stared, not knowing what to do. They all knew why Damian had hidden this, he hated everything and anything that he felt might make anyone see him as weak, even if it didn't.

Ra's Al Ghul finally landed a punch, sending Damian to the floor. Tim immediately paused the video, not wanting to see what they all knew would come next.

"Shit," Jason said, his gaze unmoving from the still computer screen.

"Why would he have this?" Tim interjected, equally shocked as he was stupefied.

"Because he's Damian," Jason replied, not knowing what else to say.

Throughout it all Dick stayed uncharacteristically silent, his arms crossed over his chest and his lip in between his teeth. The acrobat was lost in thought, not at all liking where those thoughts were taking him.

"What's the other video?" Jason asked after a long, silent pause.

They all stayed silent as Tim started typing away.

The next video took place in the same dark room, except this time there were two chairs standing in it.

Tim's eyes widened as he recognised the two figure trapped with the wooden chairs, their arms, legs and torsos bound to the two separate wooden structures. Damian now somewhere between six and eight was tied to one of the chairs, tugging futilely at the bonds that held him. A man in his mid-fifties sat across from him, bound in a similar fashion and struggling to free himself just as desperately.

A table stood in between them and on it a simple hunting knife laid.

It wasn't long before the older man broke free, making a mad dash for the knife the man lunged forwards and…

Damian moved just in time, throwing his chair backwards as the knife embedded itself in the back of his chair. The chair broke from the impact and Damian quickly pulled free of the restraints that previously held him.

Tim watched; his gaze far off and distant.

Jason's nails dug into his palms.

Dick's fists clenched.

Damian spun onto his back, kicking the man away from his small frame as he rose to his feet. This didn't seem to discourage Damian's attacker in the slightest as the man threw himself at Damian once again, cutting open the younger boy's arm with the large hunting knife.

The man seemed to have gained the upper hand, with the knife raised above his head and Damian pinned to the floor under his immense weight. The man plunged the knife downwards, certain of his victory and just as the knife was about to break his skin Damian raised his arm and easily disarmed the overconfident man, grabbing the knife with his free hand and…

Dick slammed his laptop shut, his nails dripping with the blood they'd drawn from his palms.

The boys sat in silence, unsure of how to react.

"Damn." Jason broke the silence, and the boys found they had nothing else to say.

* * *

 **Sorry if I butchered this… I can't write fight scenes :(... Don't forget to review! Let me know if you want an extended ending to this!**


	6. Confrontations and Comparability S&S Pt2

**Because you asked for it (much like the third season of Young Justice) a part two of the previous chapter has been typed and published for your nerdy pleasure.**

* * *

Jason didn't know where he was going, just that he had to get out of there, that he had to do _something_ to break apart the haunted memories he'd just witnessed. When he looked back Jason could still feel the cold metal of that blasted crowbar against his burning skin, the dread as he watched the numbers get lower and lower on the bomb's timer.

Damian was eleven, _eleven_ and he'd felt that pain, that dread even if it hadn't been in the same way he had. Damian, of all people, had been betrayed and broken and then moulded into something before he could even understand it was wrong... like him.

Never before had Jason ever dared think something like this, that there could be someone out there who been through what he had and to think, even for a moment that Damian _fucking_ Wayne of all people could be was one train of thought Jason definitely did not want to follow.

He was alone, Jason couldn't afford to think otherwise, not with the life he'd lived, not with how he was living. Sure, taking part in a couple pranks and some mischief-making with his ex-foster siblings wasn't exactly the definition of alone, but either way, he felt as though he had no one, or at least that's what he'd told himself, what he always told himself.

How could someone, how could anyone do that to their own flesh and blood? Their own family? Steal away their free will, their life like that? It was far too similar to how his mother, his true mother had done to him for comfort.

They were _not_ alike, they just _couldn't_ be.

Yet here he was, sitting on Wayne Manor's rooftop staring out at the familiar darkness of Gotham's rainy days, contemplating that maybe, just maybe they were.

"What are _you_ doing out _here_?" Damian voice, not exactly cold yet void of anything other than counterfeit contempt sounded from behind him, causing Jason to turn towards the source of the sound.

Damian was leaning against an open window slightly above and to the right of where Jason was sitting, his arms crossed and his face a mask of expressionless stoic veiling his childish curiosity. Before replying Jason did a quick window count, almost immediately registering which exact hallway Damian was standing in.

"I could ask the same thing to you," Jason spoke after short silence filled with nothing but the two boys calculating glances, motioning towards the setting sun. "Isn't this usually about the time you're jumping into the Batmobile?"

Damian's impassive look transformed into his customary scowl as he pulled himself out of the window and onto the rooftop, sliding down next to the older man before settling into a slightly defensive yet similarly open position with one of his legs tucked into his chest and the other swinging over the edge. "Father thought it best for me to remain here at present." Damian's reply was simple and cold, yet the very fact that he'd climbed down next to Jason contradicted his tone of voice greatly.

Jason let out a huff of breath somewhere in between a laugh and a knowing sigh. "Yeah, I know how _that_ feels."

"I don't need your... sympathy, Todd." Damian scoffed and for the first time Jason couldn't help but notice how Damian struggled to find that one word, sympathy, a word that should not have been foreign to someone his age and education.

"It's not sympathy, Bat-Brat," Jason retorted, rolling his hooded eyes, eyes the same shade of blue as an uncut aquamarine crystal. "Just the truth, whether you like it or not."

"I did not mention my, or any emotion towards your previous statement," Damian replied monotonously, earning himself another eye roll.

"It's not because he doesn't trust you, ya' know?" Jason continued anyways, saying something he knew he had to get off his chest.

"What else could be?" Damian questioned in return, his voice hollow.

Jason looked out towards the sun, which was now almost completely hidden by the tall trees of Gotham's countryside.

"He doesn't want you to get hurt... To end up like me."

Damian remained silent, not knowing what to say.

"But you're not... You're not like me…"

Jason pushed himself up onto his feet, Damian remained seated.

"You can still choose if you're going become the monster everyone else is trying to make you out to be."

Jason pulled himself up through the window, keeping his back turned to the boy staring at his leather-clad back.

"Monsters are made, _not_ born and it's best you remember that cause' like it or not you're _not_ a monster, you're _not_ a weapon until you let yourself be... and... _I_ and all those _goody two shoes_ you've gotten yourself _stuck_ with _don't_ want _that_ to happen so you _better_ _not_ disappoint."

Jason barely heard the words Damian muttered next, but they made him stop dead in his tracks all the same.

" _I won't... And neither have you."_

* * *

 **This was surprisingly fun to write, Jason and Damian have always been such complex characters to me and it wasn't until I was asked to write a part two to Secretes and Sneaks did I realize how alike they were.**

 **Don't forget to review!**

 **~ Meow ~**


	7. Aftermath and Inquiry (Reverse Robins)

**Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to all those who actually bothered to read this Author's Note and is a bit of a Young Justice crossover following the aftermath of the episode Homefront.**

The scene twenty-one-year-old Damian Wayne- Gotham City's Black Bat (not to be confused with the Black Bat operating out of Japan, Cassandra Cain) registered when the Zeta Beam's light faded was possibly one of the most horrifying and question-raising things he'd ever seen, not because of the obvious state of wreck Mount Justice was in but because of the lack of distress calls and S. from Robin- his young brother's comm unit that tended to accompany such wreckage and debris.

Stepping out of the Zeta tube Damian's eyes, an ever-so-rare shade of aquamarine intertangled with the blue and green jewel tones of topaz, hidden by the white lenses of his domino mask scanned the trashed living-sparing room in front of him.

Water made the floor sleek and slippery yet crispy remains- bit pieces of burnt papers and scorched fabric crunched underfoot.

There had been a fire, and then… a flood? The probability of that happening was very low but all the evidence was sprawled out in front of him. It would also be a viable explanation for the destruction. With the way the furniture and random little knick-knacks had been damaged rearranged it would've been very hard for one fight, no matter how violent to cause all that chaos.

Moving from his place with precise feline grace Damian quickly sent his father the images of the obvious crime scene taken by the high-tech lenses of his domino mask as he followed the trail of destruction down one of the many halls, what he found at the end of it was far more worrying than the most severe forms of disconcerting.

Robin and his little team- a rather eccentric group of sidekicks that he'd disapproved of since day one for various reasons, were sprawled out across the floor in various places and in various positions and all sporting different injuries. Both the martian girl, M'gann M'orzz and the Atlantean, Kaldur, as Robin called him were sporting minor burns and signs of dehydration. Wallace- Wally West, a rather annoying pest his brother insisted on hanging out with and the superman-clone, Connor were both covered with red rope-burn like marks, a sure sign of being bound and struggling for a long period of time, and it couldn't have been that long ago considering Wally's speedster healing and Connor's impenetrable skin.

Despite these obvious injuries Artemis and Robin seemed to have taken the majority of the pain, much to Damian's anger. Robin, Richard Grayson- his little brother's sun-kissed and olive skin was speckled with the reds, purples and blues of new cuts and bruises, his thick, raven feather hair was soaking wet and sticking up in odd directions and his breathing was alarmingly heavy.

" _Bee-Zero-Two: Batman."_ The automated feminine voice that belonged to the zeta beam's computer system announced as Damian rushed to Robin's side. "Black Bat, what happened here?" Batman ordered, never one to lose his stoic demeanour as be began to signal the league.

"I don't know, Father. Some sort of fire? A flood… It was like this when I got here and I sent you those photographs right after."

A few short moments later the other prominent members of the League- Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, The Flash, Black Canary and Green Arrow arrived, thoroughly questioning Black Bat, much to his own and his father's annoyance as they attempted to wake and rehydrate the injured teens sprawled out before them.

"Ugh…" Robin let out a small, tired groan as he regained consciousness, causing Black Bat to kneel down at his little brother's side as Batman consulted with the rest of the league and as the Flash attempted to revive his nephew.

"Robin?" Black Bat began as he helped the younger boy sit up in a semi-straight position. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"I… I…" Robin mumbled quietly, still shivering from the cold and still struggling to catch is breath.

Black Bat's eyes narrowed as he noticed Robin shiver, his gloves had been keeping him from feeling the water that soaked Robin's red, green, yellow and black uniform.

"What happened?" He repeated, his voice dangerously calm as he tried to restrain his anger at whoever had dared to hurt someone he, although he'd never admit it, cared about.

"Where are they?" Robin questioned in return, his mask hidden eyes searching the room for something.

"Your teammates are alright," Damian replied.

"No- I know that…" Robin muttered. "Where's Red Tornado? And all the other robots?"

"Robots?" Black Bat asked, not-so-obviously confused.

"Yeah… Red's crazy, super-evil siblings!" Kid Flash butted in as his uncle helped him to his feet. "They attacked us and ransacked the place!"

This earned a few odd looks and raised eyebrows from the leaguers, much to Kid Flash's annoyance.

"Are you sure that's what happened?" Green Arrow asked skeptically, leaning down over his unconscious 'niece'.

"It is!" Robin insisted, wobbling slightly as he pushed himself to his feet, much to Black Bat's unapparent disapproval. "Although I wouldn't call them his siblings."

"Well, what else could they be?" Wally shot back as he raced over to his friend, steadying him before Black Bat had the chance.

"Wait a second," Black Canary interrupted. "What is this about Red Tornado having siblings?"

Robin shrugged.

"I don't really know… I wasn't here when they showed up." He admitted sheepishly. "Artemis and I got here after everyone else- I'm guessing because of the time difference and by then… Everything had already happened… Well, _most_ of everything."

Black Bat fastened his hand on Robin's shoulder, gaining the younger boy's attention.

Raising an eyebrow Black Bat asked his younger brother a silent question.

 _Are you hurt?_

Robin avoided his gaze and shifted his weight, avoiding Damian's silent question as his body language unwillingly answered it for him.

Exchanging looks with his father Black Bat grabbed Robin's arm and nearly immediately began to drag him to Zeta Tube.

"Wha- Hey! What are you-" Robin exclaimed in surprise as Black Bat practically dragged him out of the room.

"Taking you to the Bat Cave." Black Bat replied curtly, cutting off Robin's complaints as he shoved him into the Zeta Beam's light.

Robin's entrance to the Bat Cave was neither as graceful or as private as he so desperately wanted it to be. Damian's shove had surprised him more than he'd wanted to admit and had sent him stumbling and tripping across the cold black stone before crash landing on the floor of Batman's most notorious hideout.

Nineteen-year-old Timothy Drake, who had been typing away at the Bat Computer for the past hour, going through files that suspiciously disappeared from the screen the moment the computer announced the thirteen-year-old's arrival turned in his chair, deep-set eyes widening as he took in Robin's state.

"What happened?" Tim asked, his voice filled with worry as he helped his gasping and soaked brother to his feet. "And why are you wet?"

There was a bright flash of light and then-

"Robin and the rest of his little 'team' were attacked at Mount Justice," Damian informed as he stepped out of the Zeta Tube, pulling Robin free of Tim's grasp and dragging him to the Med Bay before either of them had a chance to a get a word in edgewise.

* * *

"I. Am. Fine!" Robin exclaimed, revealing the teal-tined azure colour of his hooded eyes as he pulled his domino mask off his face and crossed his arms over his chest.

"No, you're not." Tim casually remarked as he prodded Robin- now Dick Grayson's bruised ribs, earning a small wince from the younger boy.

"So… What did happen?" Tim asked, looking between Dick and Damian.

"I don't really know…" Dick began, despite his struggling breath as Tim checked him for further injuries. "Artemis and I ran into each other at the zeta entrance near Gotham Academy, by the time we got to Mount Justice the Reds were already there."

"Reds?" Tim questioned, his voice split between intrigue and surprise.

"These red robots… They looked like Red Tornado… They were the ones who attacked us." Dick gasped, causing Tim's eyebrows to furrow.

"Was your breathing restricted in any way?" Tim interrogated, his sapphire eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Maybe a little bit." Dick managed to admit just nanoseconds before Damian forcefully shoved an oxygen mask over his face.

"How so?" Damian demanded, hiding his concern with his dissatisfaction at Dick's somewhat non-descriptive answers.

Dick pulled the oxygen mask away from his face before replying.

"One of the robots- there were two could control water… Didn't seem to like me very much." Dick offered up a weak, half-hearted smile as Tim gingerly shoved the oxygen mask back onto his face.

"What do you mean by that?" Tim asked, holding the oxygen mask in place in an attempt to discourage Dick from attempting to remove it once again. Dick pushed the mask off his face anyways.

"Ah… Th-they uh... They caught me sneaking around." Dick explained sheepishly. "And umm… Decided that the best way to contain me was in a bunch of water…"

" _What?!"_ Tim exclaimed. "You… drowned?!"

"No…" Dick mumbled. "Just lost consciousness after being underwater for a long period of time due to… Lack of breathing?" He sounded more like he was uncertainly guessing the answer to very complicated math problem (which, because of his unforeseen mathematical genius he'd never had to do before) instead of rephrasing a reply that could have been a very simple yes.

Tim just rolled his eyes before shoving the oxygen mask back onto Dick's face.

 _Little Brothers._

 **~Extended Ending~**

Batman was in a foul mood, he'd just spent three hours questioning a group of teenagers to no avail, spent another two trying to track down a rogue member of the league, one more re-coding league files and, to top it all off, his adoptive son had been rushed off by his highly trained biological son to be treated for injuries, which meant Damian was worried which was always something to worry about.

Batman's entrance to the Batcave was nothing like his young protegé's hours earlier, his calm and steady undeterred by any emotion he may or may not have been feeling and by the time he'd pulled off his cowl and gotten to the Med Bay he was yet to break that pace.

A small smile, nothing too noticeable made its way onto his unmasked features as his deep-set eyes, their colour a series of deep blues and stormy greys took in the scene before him.

Dick was laying on one of the cots, curled into Tim's side with his mouth and nose covered by an oxygen mask with Damian sitting, fast asleep in the chair by his back, his hand centimetres above his favoured Katana in the case of an unforeseen attack.

Even without the blood bond that most brothers shared those three were most definitely brothers.

 **Sorry for the long wait! I'm getting ready to change school's next year and I haven't had much of time to do any writing. If you want any other Reverse!Robins stories to read I'd recommend Young Justice: Under The Red Hood by Morestorii.**


	8. Why?

**In which a recently resurrected Damian finds out about Dick's 'death'.**

Damian Wayne stared at the cold stone set in the grass, an unfamiliar feeling settling in his chest.

 _Richard John Grayson_

He was dead, he couldn't be dead.

Why did things have to happen this way?

He'd died.

Grayson died.

Why did he have to be the one who got brought back to life?

Why?

Damian could feel the tears rolling his cheeks but he couldn't bring himself to stop them, he couldn't stop them.

He couldn't stop it.

Damian clenched his fists.

If he'd been there then maybe-

No, there was no use thinking like that.

He was dead.

His brother- his father figure was gone.

Forever.

Hi shoulders shook, his vision was clouded with his tears.

He couldn't move, he couldn't do much more than cry.

He felt it first, a warmth on his shoulder that slowly came to engulf his frame.

"Hey, hey, it's okay… It's going to be okay… Damn, Dami you never really struck me as much of a crier."

Jason's words fell on deaf ears, his weak attempt to lighten the situation going completely unnoticed.

For the first time, Damian wasn't completely aware of his surroundings, he'd barely even registered that it was Jason who'd pulled him into a hug and for the first time he couldn't bring himself to care.

 **I'm sorry this is so short, these first couple weeks of school have been hell.**


	9. Their Family's Way of Reunion

**My written adaptation of Damian and Dick's reunion from the twelfth issue of the Comic series** _ **Grayson**_ **, mainly following along Damian's point of view. A special shout-out to Hilda-Gatita for the suggestion. I wrote Damian and Dick's reunion simply because of how much I hurt Damian last chapter, I might write Tim and Jason's reactions later but sometimes it can be a little awkward for me to keep going back to my comic book to check the dialogue and sometimes it's a little too tempting to deviate so don't hold me to it.**

He was alive.

That idiotic, over-affectionate, irksome, obnoxious man was still alive.

Damian didn't know whether he wanted to beat the young man standing before him to a pulp or crush him in one of the ridiculous acts of affection he had only recently and reluctantly began to look upon as more than the frivolous acts of indulgent neanderthals. Before he could choose which it would be he found himself surrounded by warmth, Grayson's voice ringing in his ears.

"I missed you." Damian breathed, his voice holding more emotion than he'd ever been willing to admit to. With everything that had happened in the recent past, his own death, hearing the news of Grayson's death, watching the footage… His father forgetting.

"I know, kiddo," Dick whispered, holding him close. "Me too. Me too."

Everything inside him was a mess, but even so a tangled bit of misery faded away to something a bit closer to clarity upon hearing his older brother's words.

Damian's grip on Grayson tightened. It was real, this was real.

He was really here.

"Aren't you going to tell me I'm an ass for hiding, for doing it all?" Grayson laughed, pleasantly surprised at Damian's affection.

"Don't you already know you're an ass?" Damian demanded in return, taking note of the blooming bruise on his cheek, distinctly the shape and size of Jason's fist. It was easily deducible that somebody else had already beaten him to the 'beating to a pulp' option. "I don't really see the point in having to bother with it." He added, deciding that despite the situation he could not stand to follow so closely in any of his brother's footsteps no matter how tempting.

He had a status that needed both proving and upholding after all.

Grayson laughed at that, releasing Damian from his bear hug.

"Y'know, baby-bat I got you a little something, a gift from your old man's things." Dick elaborated, reaching into the back pocket of his smoke gray cargo-style pants.

Damian wasn't paying attention, he was too lost in his thoughts.

So much had been going on, although with his lifestyle and family ties that was a given but with his father's memory loss and Grayson's 'death' things had been… harder than he was willing to admit. He'd attempted to ignore it, to just keep moving forwards, traveling, visiting Gotham Academy, spending time with Collin and attempting to tolerate that the ridiculous Robin movement (a battle he was willing to admit he was failing, although he would never use such phrasing outside of his own thoughts) but in the end he knew he'd been isolating himself, avoiding his problems the same way he'd been avoiding his mother as of late.

Grayson pulled an old handle, a plain gray and gold-rimmed hilt to a katana out from his pocket, holding it out to Damian.

"It's a sword hilt." Dick started, causing Damian to roll his eyes at his obviousness. "From the first time your dad fought your grandpa. It was the first time he met your mom, you should have it." He explained as Damian did his best to remain indifferent.

"TT." Damian let out his signature tutting noise, causing Dick to bite back a found bit of laughter bubbling in his throat. "Well, I already have Grandfather's hilt so perhaps this can complete the collection. Though it does seem mildly redundant."

Dick smiled down at the younger boy, resting his hand on his shoulder.

"Before we get into it, and we have a lot to get into, I have to tell you something" Dick started seriously, the rarity of him adapting such a demeanor gaining him Damian's full attention. "Red Robin, Red Hood, Batgirl, I knew they could take my leaving, each of them has been in this game long enough. And you've seen things too, I know. Kids like you… Well, there aren't a lot of kids like you. I just want to say how you took it, how you went on, to see what you're doing, what you've become, I'm nothing but proud."

Dick admitted, meaning every word despite his ulterior motives.

Damian was grinning up at him, taking every word into account.

And although Grayson had just told him something admittedly very important in one of their family's less used codes, he beamed as he registered the truth behind his words.

As odd as they may be brothers they were indeed.

 **P.S I'm going to try to start updating more regularly, at least once a month I hope.**


	10. Blisters and Benevolence

**This takes place after Jason gets resurrected but before Damian comes anywhere near the picture if that makes sense.**

Over all his years of vigilante-ing and big brother-ing and just about everything in between Dick Grayson had been yet to find a better source of chaos than the Batcave. From heated arguments to dramatic exits, the cave had seen it all, but that didn't make it any less worrying when his thirteen-year-old adoptive brother, Tim Drake stormed out of the Batmobile and up the rock-carved steps in an angry rush.

In fact, "What happened?" Were the first words out of his mouth the moment he heard the exit door slam shut.

Bruce Wayne, in all his Batman glory simply scowled as he made his way to the Batcomputer, his shoulders tense- a surefire sign that something was up.

"Nothing," Bruce growled, not making any move to take off his cowl, "he's overreacting."

"Tim? Overreacting?!" Dick asked, his disbelief just as apparent as the blue shades in his cobalt and azure eyes. Tim was calm, calculated, he always thought things through and he never, ever overreacted, at least he hadn't yet.

Dcik sighed, there was no way he was anything more out of Bruce, at least not while he was still in full-blown Batman-mode.

Might as well go straight to the source.

Walking through the Manor, like always, was like walking through a maze, but thanks to some practice and some Alfred-wisdom Dick had managed to get a pretty good mental floorplan, made, of course, with the high hopes that there weren't any more of those secret passageways- especially after the one with the giant spiders.

After checking the roof, the abandoned basement kitchen, and the ceiling rafters- you know, all the obvious places Dick finally decided to go look in Tim's bedroom.

Tim's room, much like Tim himself, was clean, tidy and so neat it neared creepily, and sitting in the middle of the room, criss-cross-applesauce on top of the bed with his laptop resting on his knees and gelled-hair sticking up in all directions, most likely due to his nervous habit of running his hands through it, was Tim.

Maybe it was because of all the lessons he'd got on reading body language, or all the time he'd spent training the kid, but the moment he opened the door Dick knew that something a little worse than a temper tantrum was going on, not that Tim was the type to throw such things.

Tim looked up the moment he heard the door open, his stormy blue eyes scanning Dick's lithe figure as he came into view.

"What happened?" Dick found himself asking for the second time within the hour as he closed the door behind him.

"Nothing," Tim grumbled, his gaze returning to his laptop as he went back to typing away.

"Sure…" Dick rolled his eyes, of course, he wasn't going to fess up to it, it was Tim he was talking about.

Tim's gaze was unmoving from his computer's screen and remained so as Dick sat down on the edge of his bed. "Are you sure about that?" He asked, staring intently at the younger boy.

"Yes! Seriously, Dick, I'm fine!" Tim snapped, further proving Dick's suspicions.

"Really? Because the way you stormed out of the Batcave would've made Jason jealous."

Tim didn't look up from the screen, but his incessant typing slowly came to an end.

"- And Bruce wasn't too happy either…" Dick added, taking careful note of the way Tim's shoulders tensed.

"Did you two get into a fight?" Dick asked, ready to catch any lying tells.

"No," Tim said, a little too quickly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Not really…" Tim related upon seeing Dick's glare.

Dick adjusted his position, leaning his back against Tim's headboard.

Tim looked down at his hands.

"You remember the guys we've been investigating… The smuggling ring?" Tim asked, sighing in defeat as he closed his laptop.

"Yep." Dick replied, habitually popping the 'p'.

"Bruce wants me off the case."

"What?" Dick asked, furrowing his brow. "Why?"

"I don't know!" Tim exclaimed, his weight joining Dick's against his headboard. "We're getting close to something, I know it! But he doesn't want me to help…"

Dick sighed, Ever since Jason's death and Barbara's paralysis Bruce had gotten more careful about what he let Robin or any of his younger partners do, it didn't help that he wasn't the most sensitive person, and he had about as much tact talking to Tim or any of his protegees as a cat did to a canary.

"It's Bruce, Tim, you know he never does anything without reason." Dick did his best to reason with the younger boy, knowing that Tim only ever responded to logic and reasoning, and occasionally Jason's insults.

"But what reasons?" Tim wondered, thinking out loud. "I mean, I know he has his issues, but I can't always tell if…"

"If he trusts you?" Dick finished, a knowing look on his face.

"It's just… I'm not like you or Jason, I'm not strong enough to do what you guys can." Tim admitted, keeping his eyes downcast.

"Timmy," Dick started, giving his little brother's shoulders a squeeze. "You're not Robin because of what you're not, you're Robin because you worked for it, we all did."

"Way to be corny." Tim laughed, and, although his laugh was made thick with the emotions he was both trying and failing to hide, it was honest.

"You've met me right?" Dick asked jokingly in return.

Tim looked back down at his hands, and for the first time, Dick was able to see all the lines that marred them.

Gymnastics rips, old blisters that had busted open, callouses and small reminders of countless scraps, they all made webs on his hands.

Tim might not have been as strong as he was when he first started out, but he'd always been a great detective, and, out of all three of them, he was most definitely the one who worked the hardest to take up the mantle.

 **Don't forget to review! Any requests? Then P.M me!**


	11. A Bit of Secret Self-Discovery

**Author's Note: Hi guys! I guess I should put in another disclaimer somewhere in this story so... I DON'T OWN DC COMICS, I'm just kidnapping my boys and torturing them for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.**

 **I'm sorry for torturing your kids, Bruce.**

Dick was worried, granted he was usually worried, his fear for his family's well being a consistent itch at the back of his mind (hey, someone had to worry and when your family includes one Jason Todd _and_ a Damian Wayne you learn pretty quick that that someone's going to be you) this worry was far different then ' _I hope they aren't bleeding out in a dark back alley'_ worry and all of this somewhat confusing line of worry could be traced back to one cause, a catalyst if you will-

For Tim was pacing and Tim only ever paced when he was having trouble thinking, but Tim never, _ever_ had trouble thinking! He was the enigmatic genius of the family! Even by Bruce's standards (which, as you might know, was _really_ saying something).

But here he was, pacing.

From a distance Tim, well he definitely looked like a pacer, with his almost unhealthy alabaster skin, overgrown undercut (with a widow's peak to match) and baggy workout clothes he looked just like any other overworked teenager, but Dick knew better, he _knew_ Tim and Tim only paced when he was thinking _too_ much, when he'd been stuck on a problem he just couldn't solve for a little too long, when coffee was suddenly good enough to replace sleep (Tim never drank energy drinks, come to think of it none of them really did) and food became optional.

When Tim paced it always meant it was time, once again, to stage some sort of mini-intervention, to force him out of his apartment (or in many cases, the Batcave), make him eat something healthy and then lock him in his room until he slept from dusk till dawn and then a few hours more.

Sometimes he was too much of a perfectionist (and an idiot) for his own good.

But for some reason, this didn't feel like one of those times.

There weren't any dark circles under his eyes or uncharacteristic workplace clutter, and, in all honesty, no over-complicated puzzle to solve, in fact with all the baddies caught back in Arkham from their last and semi-recent prison break they were looking at a relatively quiet week, or at least a quiet as Gotham could get.

So what was with the pacing?

Dick didn't know, but he had a plan A, B, C, D and Q to figuring it out.

Tim turned on the balls of his feet the moment he almost walked into the wall (you'd be surprised how often someone did that, Bruce really should install some better lighting) and starting wandering back to where he'd started his pacing, right towards Dick who he hadn't quite yet noticed.

"You okay there, Timmy?" Dick asked as soon as Tim got to close to escap- ermmm, walk away as fast as he could without being too too rude.

"Hun?" Tim breathed, looking up from the dreary stone floor as though in a daze, his posture righting itself the moment his heavily grey-tinted azure eyes fell onto Dick's lithe frame.

"You okay?" Dick repeated, cocking his head to one side with one of his eyebrows raised, turning him from a childish, mother-henning young adult to an inquisitive puppy in a matter of seconds.

"I'm fine," Tim muttered, waving off Dick's concern as he resumed his pacing.

"You sure about that?" Dick asked, blocking Tim's path.

"Yes." Tim deadpanned, trying to get around his adoptive big brother.

Tim silently cursed as he realized (more like remembered) that Dick was way, way too stubborn to let him succeed.

"So, what are you working on?" Dick asked, changing the subject and much to Tim's annoyance, finding an excuse to keep up the conversation.

Tim didn't really know how to respond to that, how could he with _Goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway_ playing like an endless mantra in his head?

"Just some research for the Titans." Tim shrugged, doing everything in his power to stay nonchalant.

He could tell from the look on Dick's face that it wasn't working.

 _Go away, go away, goaway goawaygoaway._

He knew Dick knew he was lying, how couldn't he? Tim didn't even know if he'd ever be able to go back to the tower again with he'd just done.

But had he really done anything wrong?

It didn't _feel_ wrong.

"Really? On what?" Dick asked, feigning interest.

For someone so good at undercover work, Dick was a really bad actor.

"Nothing, it's not important," Tim muttered, trying, once again to walk away.

Once again he was stopped, but not by the familiar, lithe frame of a semi-childish semi-grown-up but by a warm, calloused hand falling on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're okay, Timmy? You know you can tell me anything." Dick asked, his eyes searching.

 _Go away, go away go-_

Tim sighed, done with hoping that Dick would just let it go.

He opened his mouth, but he couldn't make the words come out.

He knew Dick thought he was overworking himself, he always overworked himself, if he just said he was a little stressed then he'd make him take a break and then he'd let him leave, keep a close on eye on him, but he'd let him go nonetheless.

But what if he didn't want to leave? What if he didn't want to lie?

He should say it, he should just _tell_ him.

This shouldn't have been so hard, this should be _normal_ , not… whatever this is.

He could still feel it, he could still feel Connor's lips on his, pressing against him, his arms holding him close.

If his parents had been alive to see it… Tim didn't know what they would've done, but he knew they wouldn't have been happy about it.

He should be able to tell Dick, the guy was raised in the circus! He was one of the most accepting people on the planet, and probably on many more if he ever decided to join Batman on one of his inter-planetary missions.

But… He couldn't, he just wasn't ready, not yet.

He would, he knew he'd have to at one point or another, he just had to wait, wait until he could get his parent's rants out of his head and his emotions out of the tangle of knots they'd been in since his and Connor's kiss.

He'd kissed Connor.

Connor had kissed him.

The realization made him giddy inside and for now, that was enough, that was what he needed to focus on.

A small grin tugged at the corners of Tim's lips.

"I… I- I need to talk to someone." Tim murmured, heading towards the changerooms. "But I'll tell you! I will! Just… Later." Tim reaffirmed talking to himself just as much as he was talking to Dick.

"If you say so," Dick muttered, leaving the cave even more confused, but a lot less concerned.

He'd never seen Tim that energetic before, plus he trusted him.

But.. Tim had mentioned the Titans, so maybe checking the security footage couldn't hurt…

No! No, he trusted Tim, and Tim had said he'd tell him and if it was something really bad he would.

Dick was willing to wait.

 **Review! And let me know if you want a part two! I'll probably write one anyway... :)**


	12. A Mother's Love

**Author's Note: I'd recommend listening to Vagabond by Fjora and Tommy Profit while reading this.**

 **IMPORTANT Note: This one-shot takes place after Super Sons Issue #13 and #14 (The Parent Trap part One + Two).**

He didn't know if it was just Grayson rubbing off on him or something more, but the rooftops of Gotham had become something of a latibule… a safe escape for Damian. Which was ridiculous, considering the number of people who tried to get away with crime not so far down below.

Once he found a spot he deemed acceptable, Damian sat down and turned his attention to his backpack. He hadn't even bothered to go home, much less back to the school his father insisted he attend, not after the mess his mother had made of Metropolis. Instead, he'd come here, up onto the roof of one the many buildings crammed side-by-side in one of Gotham's more residential areas.

It wasn't a place anyone was likely to look, at least not for him.

His back was to the brick wall of the neighbouring building, a decaying, rectangular monstrosity that served as some kind of office space. Across from him stood an apartment building, in better shape than the one he was currently sitting on and much taller. For the briefest of moments Damian couldn't help but wonder what people in that building thought when they turned towards their windows and saw him, not Robin, but some green-eyed, middle-eastern kid wearing a tattered and blood-stained classic tie-and-blazer school uniform, sitting there and going through his backpack. Not that he was anymore, as it had only taken him a handful of seconds to locate his pencils and just-almost-full sketchbook.

Drawing was one of the few ways Damian could clear his head that didn't result in a lengthy and usually hypocritical lecture from his father.

He pressed his pencil, sharpened to a menacing point, ever-so-lightly against a blank page.

When he'd started learning things, training underneath the Al Ghul family's unflinching eyes, his mother's tests were always something he looked forward to. They were just as much a chance to prove himself to his grandfather as they had been a chance to prove himself to her. And sometimes, they'd lead to the days that were few and far between, when they'd sit together at the dinner table just a little longer than usual, eating ma'amoul and just talking, something no one the league found themselves doing very often.

But they also lead to the days that made his father look at him with cold eyes and made his brothers tense around him.

He didn't want that, that much he was sure of.

 _But the way his mother had behaved today…_

She'd been honest with him about her attack on him, and then on Louis Lane being another test and she acted as though it was nothing more than just that.

Like everything that had happened, him choosing his father and turning his back on the league, was just a child's temper tantrum and that him refusing to kill Mara, even as she tried to kill him and him fighting against the league, against his grandfather, was just a teenage rebellion.

Like he was just a misbehaving child whose temperament she needed to assess.

It reminded him of when he was younger, it reminded him of those days.

Of the time when he was little and his mother had painted henna all over him because of just how fascinated he'd been with the intricate artwork he'd seen sprawling across her skin and how she'd rebuked his grandfather's disapproval with one simple sentence, "hu abnay, sa'afeal bih ma 'arah mnasbana."

 _He's my son, I'll do to him whatever I see fit._

It was one of the few times Damian had seen his mother exhibit anything even remotely close to disobedience, and one of the two times he'd seen her get away with it.

And of how she used to sing, how she'd quietly hum all these old songs her mother, someone Damian knew next to nothing about, had taught her when she was a little girl.

Damian knew better than to be sentimental.

He tried to remind himself of all the other things.

But… Talia had never been an _entirely_ awful mother, bad, yes, maybe even a little terrible, but never as evil as everyone seemed to think.

So why was it so wrong that sometimes, just _sometimes_ , those cookies and dyes and that voice were the only things he wanted?

 _A Mother's love is something that no one can explain,_

 _It is made of deep devotion and of sacrifice and pain._

 _\- Helen Steiner Rice_


End file.
